


Secrets You Keep

by shakti108



Series: Mingling [8]
Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Angst and Humor, Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakti108/pseuds/shakti108
Summary: Richie propped himself on his forearms, disbelief plastered across his face. "Hey, asshole -- I'm revealing a dark secret from my childhood. This is a profound moment for us."





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Finally. This is the last one :)

"Man. That shit is creepy."

Jon kept his eyes on his notebook, because he was on a roll and didn't need to get sidetracked by Richie's nonsense. "Hmm?"

"Teddy Ruxpin."

Without thinking, Jon looked over to the other bed. " _Who?_ "

Richie slurped the last of his Coke through the straw then smacked his lips. "Teddy Ruxpin." He wagged an index finger at the TV. "That talking teddy bear in the commercial."

Jon blinked. "OK."

Richie sat up and plunked his McDonald's cup on the nightstand. "It's fucked up, man." He looked at Jon with wide, vacant eyes, and began jerking his arms like a robot. "'Can you and I be _frieeends?_ '"

He dropped his arms. "Then its eyes start rolling and all the kids nod like zombies. I'd be freaked if my parents gave me that thing."

Jon smiled indulgently. "I'll mention that to them."

"Ha-ha." Richie slumped back into his stack of pillows, and Jon buried his head in his writing again.

"Thank God that shit wasn't around when we were kids," Richie blathered on, apparently not catching Jon's subtlety. "Toys these days are disturbing."

Jon's hand froze mid-lyric. He sort of hated himself for being drawn in, but he also couldn't resist being contrary.

"Atari 2600 is pretty cool." 

"Yeah, OK," Richie readily conceded. " _Combat_ kinda rocks. _Centipede,_ too."

"Ugh," Jon objected. 

"What?" Richie smirked. "You scared of the bugs?"

Jon side-eyed him. "You're afraid of teddy bears."

Richie shifted to face him. "Not teddy bears. Teddy _Fuxpin._ "

Jon snickered. "You sure this is a kid's toy?"

"How have you missed the commercial? It's on, like, every five minutes."

Jon made a show of tapping his pen on the notebook. "Sorry. I've been wasting my time on music and shit."

"S'OK." Richie rubbed his nose. "Y'know, I _did_ have this one toy. A clown -- kinda like the one in _Poltergeist._ "

Jon automatically winced, because that fucker was scary as hell. "Why would you have some crazy killer clown?"

Richie pursed his lips like he always did when he tried to remember something. "I think my aunt got it for me. She has weird taste." He turned onto his belly and folded his hands under his head. "Anyway, sometimes when I was lying in bed at night, I'd swear I saw its eyes move."

"Ah." Jon nodded sagely. "That explains your problem with Teddy … what's its name?"

He caught a twinkle in Richie's eye, even with his face half-smashed into the bed. "Fuxspin."

"No, its real name."

"Fuxspin."

Jon sighed with as much dramatic weariness as possible. "Whatever. That explains why you're afraid of a teddy." 

Richie scoffed. "Please. You'd pee your panties if you saw this clown … I had nightmares about it."

Jon smiled, not quite believing he'd been given such an opening for ridicule. "Aww, boo-boo -- Your dolly scared you that much?"

"I was, like, six years old."

"And twenty years later it still haunts you." Jon made _spooky_ fingers.

"What can I say?" Richie stuck his bottom lip out. "I'm sensitive."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Well, can you sense my agony right now? I'm trying to write and you're buggin' me about teddy bears and killer clowns."

Richie propped himself on his forearms, disbelief plastered across his face. "Hey, asshole -- I'm revealing a dark secret from my childhood. This is a profound moment for us." 

Jon narrowed his eyes, trying to discern the sincerity of those words. There were times when he couldn't get a solid read on Richie, since he presented most things as a joke, even when they weren't.

"Profound, huh?"

"Yeah."

Jon resumed tapping his pen, aiming for a casual air. "Have you ever told anyone else about your clown trauma?"

"Nope."

Jon stopped tapping, genuinely surprised. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Richie affirmed, then smiled so openly Jon had to look down to his notebook.

"Wow," he said, dialing up the sarcasm. "I feel so special."

"Obviously."

Jon didn't answer, opting instead to scribble some random shapes -- just to distract from the realization that he was a world-class sap. Because he actually did feel kind of special … all because Richie had told him, and no one else, about his crazy killer clown dreams. 

_Jesus Christ._

He'd clearly been on the road too long. Spent too much time trapped in hotel rooms with that ugly mug. And now he was devolving into an idiot.

"So," Richie piped up, in that familiar teasing tone. "What were you afraid of when you were a kid?" 

Jon's shoulders slumped. How had he not seen that coming? 

"Nothing." He kept doodling. "Unlike you, I was cool."

"You were?" Richie feigned shock. "What happened?"

"Good one, mama's boy."

Richie chuckled. "C'mon -- You really got nothin'?"

Jon dropped his pen and groaned. "Dude, really -- I'm in the middle of something. And why do you care?"

Richie shrugged a shoulder. "I'm curious. I told you something -- Seems like you should tell me something."

Jon eyed him. "What, like, 'I showed you mine, you show me yours'?"

Richie returned the look with a sly little smile. "We've played that one. Many times."

Jon tried to ignore the way his belly flipped at that tone. Because he'd not only become a sap, but more hair-trigger horny than ever. He chose to blame the combination of easy access and the still-uneasy thrill of the forbidden. 

"I'm just tryin' to have a conversation," Richie went on. "You can't think of one thing you were scared of?"

_For fuck's sake._

"OK, I think rollercoasters scared me for a while. Happy?"

Richie wrinkled his nose. "Pretty generic. I think you're making it up."

Jon actually felt a little offended. He had a distinct memory of freaking out over The Cyclone.

"Well, I'm sorry my childhood fears aren't impressive enough. That's all I got."

He gave Richie his best _I mean it_ stare, then turned back to his work -- which now looked like a word jumble and some suspiciously phallic artistic renderings. He had to rotate the notebook to find the last lyrics he'd managed to scratch across the page, on a diagonal for some reason.

_'I feel your eyes on me, they swallow me up.'_

Before the interruption he'd had a rough sketch of the next line -- not the exact words, but a feeling for where it should go. He seemed to have lost it, though.

"Jonny?" Richie's voice invaded his thoughts. "Did you ever have nightmares?"

Jon looked up, ready to bitch. When he met Richie's gaze, though, something he saw there made him balk.

_Fuck it._

He tossed the notebook aside and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sure. Don't all kids?"

"I guess."

Jon quirked an eyebrow then waited while Richie flipped onto his back and stuck his legs into the air to yank on his socks. The guy was a granite statue when he slept, but during waking hours he fidgeted like a dog with fleas.

"One reason I'm asking is" -- Richie dropped his feet onto the mattress -- "I think you've been having nightmares lately."

Jon stared for a beat. This was unexpected … and complete bullshit.

"What? No, I haven't."

Richie stretched his legs out. "I think you have."

Jon sighed impatiently. "I think I'd know it."

Richie angled his head toward him without making eye contact. "OK. Well, you're sleeping really weird then. Like, tossing and turning. And making all these sounds … Talking."

Jon felt his heartbeat spike. What the fuck was he saying in his sleep?

"Talking?" He sat up a little. "About what?"

Richie drew his legs in again. "I dunno. You mumble. Plus, I'm usually pretty wasted, so …"

Jon relaxed a bit -- though he wasn't sure, exactly, what had him so tense in the first place. Logically he knew it probably wasn't a big deal. But somehow the thought of Richie listening to his unconscious words at night rattled him.

"Well," he began slowly. "I'm not having any nightmares I can remember … Maybe I'm just restless 'cause your damn legs take up most of the bed."

It really was annoying. He'd never slept with someone so rangy.

Richie rolled onto his side. "Hmm. You don't complain about my _damn_ legs when we're goin' at it."

Jon tried not to smirk at the way he'd deftly redirected the conversation. "I guess I'm too distracted to comment on your chimpanzee limbs."

Richie pushed onto his elbow. "Unh-uh. Don't try to change the subject with your lame insults."

_Shit._

Jon growled in annoyance. "What _subject?_ I'm not having nightmares, OK? I'm … I dunno. But if I talk in my sleep, just wake me up."

"Why?"

"Why?" Jon almost squeaked. "'Cause I don't want you just lying there listening to me. It's weird."

Richie rolled his eyes. "I'm not listening like a creeper, shithead. You kick me and I wake up, and you're goin' _Her-ma-mer-ma-mer._ "

Despite all intentions to cling to his irritation, Jon cracked a smile. " _Her-ma-mer-ma-mer?_ Sounds like it's just the substances talkin'."

Richie regarded him for a few moments before flopping onto his back. "Yeah. Maybe."

He started drumming his fingertips on his belly, and Jon simply watched for a while. Until something compelled him to speak.

"Sorry about kicking you."

Richie kept his rhythm. "S'alright."

Jon opened his mouth to say more, but decided against it. Better just to let the conversation die, he figured. Anyway, he was gradually losing steam. He _had_ been noticing lately that his tiredness never seemed to go away, no matter how much he slept. Now it made more sense -- if he really was as agitated at night as Richie said.

He sunk down into his pillows and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his body grow heavy. Just as he was drifting off, Richie's voice broke in again.

"I hear the secrets that you keep -- _da-na-na, na-na_ \-- when you're talkin' in your sleep."

Jon's eyes flew open. "No." He slapped a palm on the mattress. "Not that one." 

He swore that damn video had played on MTV every five minutes for a year.

Richie rose to his feet, still singing. "You _tell_ me that you want me." He moved to sit on the edge of Jon's bed. "You _tell_ me that you need me."

Jon scowled. "I do _not_ fucking say that. You lie." 

Richie furrowed his brow. "What? I'm just singing a chart-topping song."

"You're just being a brat. You won't let me write. Now you won't let me sleep?"

Richie unleashed that _aren't I cute?_ smile that worked on the girls -- but had absolutely no effect on Jon.

"I guess I just want some attention."

Jon blinked. No effect whatsoever.

Richie scooted closer and brushed some hair away from Jon's face. "I was wondering … Can you and I be _frieeends?_ "

Jon cringed but couldn't help laughing. "God. Sometimes I think you're actually deranged."

Richie smiled like he was flattered. "You didn't answer my question."

Jon sighed heavily, then dragged himself to the other side of the bed like it was the most laborious task in the world. "Fine." He pulled the covers back. "Get in, Fuxpin."

Richie stood up and yanked his t-shirt off. "Teddy Fuxpin likes to nap naked. That OK?"

Jon shrugged and fake-yawned, but finally succumbed to a grin when Richie's boxers hit the floor. "Wow. You got batteries for that thing?"

"Mm-hmm," Richie assured as he crawled into bed. "Duracell."


	2. Two

"Lemme see."

Jon moved the ice away from his eye and blinked up at Richie, who was studying him with some mix of pity and amusement.

"Oof." Richie grimaced. "You're gonna have a real shiner, man."

"Great." Jon replaced the ice and went back to sulking. He knew he probably didn't have the right to be moody with Richie, since the whole thing was his own fault. Or mostly.

He'd just thought it would be funny, waking Richie that way … by wrapping his arm around his neck and cackling maniacally like the _Poltergeist_ clown. He hadn't predicted the lightning-quick reaction or blindly flailing fist to his cheekbone.

And why would he? Richie hadn't mentioned he was still suffering from post-traumatic stress twenty fucking years later.

So really, Jon reasoned, it was kind of Richie's fault for telling him the stupid story in the first place. He should've known the revelation would be used against him -- that one day he'd be innocently dozing and Jon would feel compelled to strike.

"I'm sorry," Richie murmured, plopping down on the bed opposite him. 

Jon scanned his face, as best he could. It did seem like Richie was finally succumbing to some guilt -- after first getting pissed, and then laughing uncontrollably for a solid five minutes.

Jon sighed. "S'OK. It was an accident."

"What are we gonna do?"

Jon shrugged his free shoulder. "I'll just hafta get through on adrenaline ... and maybe some other stuff." Water started dripping down his arm from the melting ice. "It'll hurt but I can sing."

He pushed to his feet and trudged to the bathroom.

"But what are we gonna tell the guys?" Richie asked as Jon dumped the sopping-wet towel into the sink.

He returned to his bed and sat down heavily. "We'll hafta tell 'em you hit me."

Richie's eyebrows shot up. "You wanna tell them what happened?"

Jon screwed up his face -- and instantly regretted it, as a jolt rode into his brain. " _Ah._ " He gingerly brought his fingertips to the skin around his eye. "No, dumbass. We'll say we had an argument."

Richie frowned. "No way, man. I don't want them thinkin' I hit you on purpose. They'll be pissed I hurt our singer right before a gig."

"Yeah, but nothing else makes sense. I didn't have this at breakfast, and they know we came back here to write. Or _I_ did, anyway."

Richie looked off to the side and bit his lip. Jon waited warily, knowing some kind of plan was being hatched underneath that bird's nest of hair.

"Well," Richie began haltingly. "What if we just tell 'em the truth?"

Jon stared with his good eye. "Are you serious?"

Richie stole a quick glance. "Uh-huh."

Jon paused to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. Richie actually wanted to tell Dave, Al and Teek they were ... what? Fucking? A couple? In love?

He took a steadying breath. "OK … So you wanna tell the guys we were lying in bed, and I was pretending to be the crazy clown from _Poltergeist, _so I grabbed you from behind, and then you punched me in the face? Oh, and when they ask why we were in bed together, we'll say we always take a nap after we blow each other … Is that what you wanna do, Rich?"__

__Richie kept gnawing on his lip, and his silence was all the answer Jon needed._ _

__"I can't fucking believe you."_ _

__Richie turned his head sharply. "What? I'm just thinking is all … Maybe things would be easier if we told them."_ _

__At first Jon was too dumbfounded to respond. But then a wave of panic rolled in as he realized Richie had truly lost his mind._ _

__"Do you hear what you're saying?" He ignored the fiery line rising up behind his eye. "How could that make things _easier?_ "_ _

__Richie shifted forward and put his elbows on his knees. "'Cause we wouldn't need to hide from them anymore. Or make stupid excuses all the time."_ _

__"Right." Jon sneered. "We'd just hafta find a new drummer, bass player and keyboardist. And hope the guys don't tell the world we're gay."_ _

__Richie visibly flinched. "We're not _gay._ "_ _

__"See?" Jon brandished an accusatory index finger. "You don't want people thinking that, either."_ _

__Richie's eyes bugged out. "'Cause we're not. And everyone knows that, for fuck's sake."_ _

__"Yeah -- They do," Jon said pointedly. "But they might change their minds if they find out where our dicks have been."_ _

__He brought his fingertips to his temples and began to dig at the ache there. It didn't help, but it was something to do._ _

__"Jon. Look at me." Richie was using that scolding tone he sometimes unleashed when he thought he knew better. Jon fucking hated that tone, so he refused to acknowledge it._ _

__Richie sighed. "OK, then don't. But I'm just sayin' … I don't think the guys will even care."_ _

__Jon dropped his hands to his lap. "Are you kidding me? They'll freak."_ _

__"I dunno," Richie objected, though there was a distinct uncertainty in his voice. "I mean, we do crazy shit every single day. Why would they have a problem with … sex?"_ _

__Jon let his head loll. Now Richie was being intentionally dense and it was pissing him off._ _

__"It's not just _sex,_ for Christ's sake. They'd freak about us being … you know."_ _

__Richie set his jaw and Jon could see his frustration surfacing. "We're _not_ gay. Why do you keep going there?"_ _

__Jon gritted his teeth. "To show you how much it fucking bothers you. Have you even _thought_ about what'll happen if people find out?"_ _

__"Of course," Richie snapped. "I think about it all the time."_ _

__In a flash, Jon felt his stomach drop … It never occurred to him that Richie might be turning those things over in his mind. Because they were exactly the kind of thoughts Jon tried to avoid. If everyone knew about them, that would be the end._ _

__He shook his head a little. "Why?"_ _

__Richie pulled a face. "What do you mean _why?_ You _don't_ think about it?"_ _

__"No," Jon denied. "I don't have to. No one's gonna find out 'cause we're not telling them." He crossed his arms. "Simple as that."_ _

__For a few silent moments, they had a stare-down -- which under any other circumstance Jon would easily win. But this time he had only one good eye. He kind of wanted to laugh, or maybe give up._ _

__But he didn't have to, because Richie broke the line, looking toward the blank TV screen as he spoke._ _

__"Here's the thing … I think maybe this is why you're so amped all the time. 'Cause the sneaking around and lying is getting to be too much."_ _

__Jon studied Richie's profile, absorbing his words. He didn't even know if they were true. But if they were, so what? He still couldn't fathom why Richie suddenly -- recklessly -- wanted to ruin everything._ _

__"Sounds like you've been doin' a lot of thinking."_ _

__Richie bobbed his head. "Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I think with my brain, too."_ _

__Jon looked down at his hands. "I know."_ _

__They grew quiet again -- quiet enough that Jon could hear the buzz from the fluorescent lights in the bathroom._ _

__"Well," he ventured. "I guess it's hard sometimes. But that's OK." He glanced at Richie. "I can deal with it."_ _

__Richie pressed his lips together and nodded._ _

__Jon's shoulders released a little, since it seemed like Richie was coming back to earth. But a second later another thought struck him._ _

__"Can you deal with it?" he asked. He supposed it sounded stupid or self-centered, to pose the question like an afterthought. But he'd always just taken it for granted that Richie was cool with almost everything._ _

__Almost._ _

__Richie shrugged. "Yeah … I mean, it's fine."_ _

__Jon knew exactly what he was telegraphing -- that it wasn't fucking _fine_ at all. But he didn't know how to change that. So he went along with the bullshit line._ _

__"OK." He leaned forward, lowering his voice so the words would feel gentler. "'Cause, Rich? It would be a disaster. You know that, right?"_ _

__Richie ducked his head and started bouncing his heel on the carpet. "Um. Probably … Yeah."_ _

__Jon exhaled heavily. "So are we good?"_ _

__Richie made a soft sound that seemed like an assent._ _

__"Can you look at me?" Jon surprised himself a little with the request. But for some reason, he needed it._ _

__Richie glanced up, brow furrowed like he was surprised, too. "Not sure," he said gruffly. "You look like shit."_ _

__Jon automatically touched his eye, almost relieved to revert to such a simple problem. "Right. Maybe there's something in your gigantic makeup bag that can cover it."_ _

__Richie rolled his eyes, but Jon saw a hint of a smile. "It's a men's _travel kit._ Asshole."_ _

__Jon held up his hands. "Whatever you say."_ _

__Richie stood up, muttering something indecipherable, then started toward the bathroom. Just as he was rounding the corner, Jon called after him._ _

__"Hey -- I won't blame you."_ _

__Richie halted then turned to give him a questioning look._ _

__Jon pointed at his eye. "I'll say I tripped and hit my head on the nightstand or something. I won't say it was you."_ _

__For a few seconds, Richie looked like he was considering his response, but then just nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. Jon shifted on the bed and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the dresser. He did look like shit. Felt like it, too._ _

__But he refused to be dragged down into guilt. Richie was wrong and he was right. End of story._ _

__Richie emerged from the bathroom, "travel kit" in hand. "I dunno if there's anything in here that'll make you less ugly."_ _

__"Maybe not," Jon agreed as the bag landed next to him on the bed. "It sure hasn't helped you."_ _

__Richie returned to his spot on the other bed, and Jon could feel those eyes on him as he fished through the stash. He pulled out a tube of … something. Most of the words on the label had worn off._ _

__"What is this?" He held it up for Richie to see. "Does it cover shit?"_ _

__Richie shrugged. "Hey, Jon? I'm sorry, OK?"_ _

__Jon set the mystery makeup down. "You already said that. It's fine."_ _

__Richie scratched at his hair. "No. I mean I'm sorry if what I said freaked you out."_ _

__Jon felt his face starting to flush, so he busied himself with digging into the bag. "It didn't. Jesus Christ, how many eyeliners do you need?"_ _

__"They're different shades of black."_ _

__Jon dumped a fistful of eyeliners on the comforter. "Black has _shades?_ "_ _

__"Yeah, moron … You're not gonna let me apologize, are you?"_ _

__Jon blew out a breath. "You already did. Twice now." He pulled a glass pipe and a lighter from the bag and tossed them aside. "There's nothin' in here. I'll just keep my shades on."_ _

__Richie glanced at the pile next to Jon, then met his gaze. "I'm not gonna tell 'em, you know. Don't worry."_ _

__"I know," Jon mumbled. And he did -- But somehow he still felt like shit. He decided it was probably the pain._ _

__He pushed to his feet. "Let's just get through the show, man."_ _

__Richie nodded. "Yeah. OK."_ _

__As Jon turned, he caught sight of himself in the mirror again -- this time with a closer view. He realized it was all a little worse than he'd thought … the discoloration, the puffiness around his eye. It was ugly._ _

__There was nothing he could do about it, though. So he looked away._ _


	3. Three

The throbbing pain inside his skull was still there. Even with all of his senses distracted -- pulled by the sounds, the scents, the softness of the body underneath him. That ache just wouldn't die.

But it was OK. It was nothing, really, in comparison to the raw pleasure of being buried in a warm pussy for the first time in … too long. Way too fucking long.

Because God, he really had missed this. Sweeping his palms over silky smooth skin and curves. Enveloping a smaller, more delicate frame with his own weight. Slipping inside so organically. Thrusting into the easy willingness, again and again. With no thoughts about right or wrong invading his mind, taking him away from the base gratification of using this nameless body. Of letting his own body be used. 

So simple. No right or wrong. No thoughts about _him …_

_Fuck._

Jon started driving his hips a little harder, hoping her moans would at least keep the noise in his head at bay -- if not the pain. And maybe even crush the seed of guilt that had somehow formed in the pit of his stomach.

Because there was no reason to feel guilty. He had Richie's blessing. The whole thing was his idea. And right now, the little fucker was God knew where, doing _this_ to some other nameless body … 

A groan tore free from Jon's chest as he instinctively quickened his pace. She was crying out now, scraping her nails down his back … coiling those long legs around him. And it was so easy, so natural. No planning, no preparation like he was performing fucking surgery. No asking if he could move, or if they had to stop. No waiting for a momentary existential crisis to pass -- usually his own, but not always.

No complications of any kind.

And yet, even as his body coasted toward release, a little part of him was already praying she wouldn't want to stick around. In a corner of his mind, he was already plotting how to get her out the door. 

Because it felt so good to hold a woman's body, to be held inside of her. But she wasn't the one he wanted lying next to him. That was the truth … Thank God there was no one around to confess to.

 

_"I was thinkin' … It would probably be a good idea if we hook up with some girls next time."_

_Richie kept his eyes averted as he said it, and Jon found himself staring at that dangly white earring._

_"Um." Richie swatted at his bangs. "Just 'cause Dave and Al have been sayin' stuff again -- about us not partying and all."_

_He peered up at Jon with a tentative smile. "And they didn't buy the story about your eye, you know. They think somethin' went down with us."_

_The smile faded and he looked at his hands. Jon let his gaze follow, watching Richie play with the little ring he always wore on his pinky finger. The one his mom gave him._

_And he finally found his voice. "So?"_

_Richie dropped his hands to his lap. "Can you sit down? Any time I try to talk, you stand around with your arms crossed."_

_Jon only dug his heels in more, clinging to his defensive stance. He wasn't sure what was rising to the surface of his skin -- anger, or fear, or some confused mix of things -- but he didn't want Richie to see it._

_"I'm comfortable like this. So you wanna fuck a groupie?" He shrugged. "That's cool."_

_To his ears it sounded pretty convincing, even though his gut was twisting in on itself. He really had become a great liar._

_Richie seemed to slump a little. "That's not what I said."_

_"Sure it is," Jon countered breezily._

_Richie sighed. "I'm just sayin', you're worried about the guys finding out, right?"_

_Jon clenched his jaw in lieu of an answer._

_"OK," Richie went on. "Well, we make it pretty fucking obvious every time we ditch the girls and leave together. Right?"_

_He raised his eyebrows in challenge, and Jon had to smile as he realized what was happening. This was his punishment._

_"Ohhh, I get it. You're pissed I won't let you tell the guys" -- He flapped a hand vaguely -- "Or blab to the world, or whatever you wanna do. So now you're gonna fuck someone else."_

_In an instant, Richie's face hardened over. "I didn't say that."_

_"I know you didn't _say_ it," Jon mocked. "But that's what this is. I know you."_

_Richie glared at him. "Hey, man, you're the one who said it would be a fucking _disaster_ if anyone finds out. If that's how you feel, fine -- Then we need to do a better job covering up."_

_Jon snorted then went over to the dresser. "Sure." He began to pull his jewelry off with a little more force than necessary. "Whatever you want, man. Like I said, it's cool."_

_He paused to catch Richie's gaze in the mirror -- unable, or unwilling, to tamp down this mounting _thing_ inside him. "I ain't gonna complain about gettin' some pussy. I've been aching for it, if you wanna know the truth."_

_Richie narrowed his eyes, and even from a distance Jon could see the color rise in his cheeks. He took a grim satisfaction in being able to stoke Richie's jealous side so easily. And he needed to feel that. He needed something to distract him from the actual truth … That the idea of Richie with someone else made him want to punch a wall. That all he really wanted to say right now was, "Fuck, no. You're mine."_

_Because there was no way in hell he could say that. Admitting they loved each other was one thing. Wanting to possess each other was another. And he was more than a little disturbed to sense that desire come out of its hiding place. To know it was in him._

_Especially since Richie obviously didn't feel the same._

_"So do you really mean that?" Richie's voice, low and calm, surprised him a little. "Or are you just pissed at me?"_

_Jon locked eyes with him in the mirror. He wanted to be honest, but he couldn't. So the next best thing, he figured, was to lash out._

_"I mean it. No offense, Rich, but your body isn't my idea of heaven."_

_Richie smiled wryly then shook his head. "OK. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this right now."_

_Jon turned and leaned back against the dresser. "Unh-uh, man. Let's be real." He lifted his t-shirt and ruffled his body hair. "I know I'm not Shangri-la for you, either."_

_Richie choked out a little laugh. "Jonny. I think we both drank too much --"_

_"No." Jon pushed away from the dresser. "Don't start somethin' then pretend you're too drunk to finish."_

_Richie rolled his eyes._

_"I'm not pissed," Jon insisted, and it wasn't technically bullshit. He couldn't give a tidy label to the feelings coursing through him at the moment. "I mean, maybe I was a minute ago, but … I dunno. You might be right."_

_Richie furrowed his brow, like he couldn't quite read the tone. "Are you serious?"_

_Jon shrugged then started unbuttoning his pants. Because what could be more non-fucking-chalant than taking your pants off during a conversation?_

_"Sure." He shoved his waistband down and watched as Richie's eyes automatically homed in. "Tomorrow night we'll fuck a couple strange chicks -- just like our job description says."_

_He worked his leathers down his legs. "We'll get some action, and maybe get the guys off our backs. Right?"_

_"Um." Richie hesitated. "Well, yeah. It's not like we'd be cheating or anything …"_

_"Right," Jon agreed as he tossed his pants on the floor and turned away. "It's not a big deal."_

_He yanked his drawer open and snagged some clean sweats. Or close to clean. Whatever. He just needed to be alone, and the fucking bathtub was the only place he could find solitude these days._

_"You need the bathroom?" he asked, already heading there. "I'm gonna take a bath."_

_"Oh -- No, go ahead."_

_Jon was almost home-free when Richie spoke up again. "Jonny? We OK?"_

_He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah. We're fine."_

 

That part hadn't really been lie. They were fine. Nothing had changed between them.

And right now, he had no good reason to feel like shit. He'd gotten off, and the chick hadn't even tried to wheedle her way into spending the night. Apparently, she had other things to do, too.

Everything was working out just the way he'd wanted.

Jon rolled onto his side and stared into the darkness. Or not the darkness, really. He could clearly see the empty bed a few feet away.

It was pathetic, he realized, to stare at it like some puppy that got left behind. But it was better than the images he saw when he closed his eyes … Richie on top of some blonde nymph, his dark hair spilling down to tickle her shoulders while he slowly undulated inside her. Gently tracing her face with his fingertips while they kissed -- acting like he wanted to memorize what she looked like.

Whispering empty words about her beautiful eyes and soft skin.

Jon hadn't bothered with that. He'd been so wasted he didn't remember or care whether his girl was beautiful. If she'd stolen his wallet, he wouldn't be able to describe her to the police.

_She had legs for days, officer. That's all I remember._

He laughed out loud … by himself in his bed at the Comfort Inn. City unknown, because he didn't give a shit. He just knew it was another gig as usual, plus this new show -- where he and Richie kept up appearances. 

Logically, he knew it wasn't exactly a raw deal -- nailing hot chicks for the sake of keeping their secret. All with no hard feelings and no consequences. Most guys wouldn't be brooding over that.

But then, he wasn't like most guys.

Most guys, he had to assume, wouldn't find themselves in a strange, confusing limbo like this. He had to believe most guys would punch their male best friend in the jaw the second that friend tried to fucking _lick_ them.

Jon scrubbed a hand over his face and when his vision cleared, it went right back to the empty bed.

Obviously, Richie wasn't like most guys, either. Jon had known that since the moment they met. That first night, when there'd been something between them that made him uncomfortable and curious at the same time.

He had no idea, back then, what is was. Or maybe he had, but his defense mechanisms wouldn't let him face it. It was always so easy, back then, to chalk things up to substances and adrenaline and raging hormones.

It still would be … Except his defense mechanisms had long since broken down, and it was taking more and more energy to bury the truth.

So he let himself stare at the empty bed, pitiful as it was. At least he was being honest.


	4. Four

Jon's eyes snapped open. At first, he couldn't register what had woken him -- He was surprised he'd been out at all. But then he heard a soft curse from the hallway and the sound of a key clumsily striking the door before finding the lock.

He propped himself on his elbow and realized his heart was thumping. He hadn't expected Richie back before daylight, and for some reason his presence was sending a shot of adrenaline through Jon's veins.

The door swung open, flooding the room with dingy light. Jon threw a hand up and croaked a sound of protest -- mainly so Richie didn't get the impression he'd been waiting up or some shit.

"Sorry, man," Richie mumbled, shutting the door behind him. 

Jon sighed for dramatic purposes. "S'OK."

Through the slant of light from the bathroom, he watched Richie dump his jacket onto a chair and move toward the other bed. The remnants of weed and cheap, skunk-y beer wafted over to his side of the room.

"What time is it?" he asked as Richie plopped down, facing away from him. It was a stupid question, but it was something to say.

"Dunno. Late -- or early, I guess."

Jon studied the curve of Richie's back as he unlaced his boots. "Didn't think you'd be back."

"Yeah." Richie sniffed. "We, uh, did it quick and dirty in the bathroom."

Jon snorted. "Class."

He knew exactly which girl it was. The blonde wearing the electric-blue mini-dress and -- if Jon had bet right -- no underwear. Not that he'd paid close attention or anything. She'd just made herself hard to ignore.

Richie yanked a boot off. "We were eager, I guess. And I couldn't take her back here."

Jon paused, considering whether to let the words hang or stir the pot a little. He picked the latter.

"You could've come back."

Richie glanced over his shoulder. "Right."

Jon sat up against the headboard. "Why not? We've had girls in the same room before."

He knew he was a terrible actor, but Richie was pretty gullible when he was high.

Richie stood to undo his pants, still facing away. "That was before." He stumbled a little over his own feet. "Can't do that anymore."

There was an edge of tension in his voice, and Jon hoped that meant _he_ wasn't the only one feeling possessive.

Richie kicked his pants across the floor then flopped onto his back. "I was surprised the sign wasn't on the door."

He said it off-handedly, but Jon could tell he was digging for information. He smiled a little.

"Guess she wasn't that interesting."

"Hmm." Richie turned onto his side. "Yeah, my girl was kinda … What's the word? Dumb?"

Jon broke into a full smile. "Ouch."

Richie hummed again. "Or maybe she was just too wasted to form sentences," he mused. "In her defense, I think the smartest thing I said was, 'New Coke sucks.'"

"It does." Jon raised a fist. "Original formula forever."

Richie chuckled in his goofy way, and Jon settled down into his pillows again. He figured Richie would go on -- regale him with tales of this dumb girl in electric blue who gave it up in a hotel bathroom. But he also half-hoped the story was over. Because he wanted to believe the whole thing was awkward and unsexy, and that Richie hated every minute of it. He didn't need to hear otherwise.

"So … Was it good?"

Jon turned his head, taken off-guard. "What?"

Richie was still lying on his side and seemed to have scooched closer to the edge of the bed. "Being with that girl? Was it good?"

"Um." He wasn't sure if the truth was a wise move or not. But it felt stupid to lie. "Well, yeah."

There was no reply, and Jon assumed he'd chosen wrong. "She was hot, and it felt good," he added, like he needed to justify normal biology. "That's all."

"Yeah," Richie said faintly.

Jon couldn't read the tone and his self-defenses kicked in. What was he supposed to say? Of course it felt good. It felt amazing. It felt like coming home to something he'd missed without realizing how much. He loved having sex with women. And God knew Richie sure as hell did --

"That's how I felt, too." Richie's soft voice interrupted his internal tirade. "I mean, it seemed like forever since I touched a woman's body and" -- He sighed -- "it was really fucking good."

Jon's stomach dropped even though he had no right to feel bad. Richie was just stating the obvious -- just repeating his own words back to him. But the reality was, it hurt -- even if it wasn't fair.

He realized then he'd been subconsciously dreading this moment … When they finally admitted, out loud, that there were things they got from girls that they couldn't find with each other. Or hadn't figured out yet, at least.

It wasn't just the physical stuff, though that was the most obvious difference.

Richie had only let him in a couple times since that first night, when he'd basically begged Jon for it. Mostly, Jon didn't mind. But every so often he swore he felt the ache of need in his bones. No matter how hot it was to suck each other off or just grind away, sometimes it wasn't enough. Sometimes he craved a deeper physical connection.

But he just wasn't all that comfortable with … nudging. And definitely not with asking. Not when they were sober, anyway. And when they were high as kites, they usually couldn't manage anything so elaborate. 

He couldn't resent Richie for it, though, since _he_ wasn't exactly open for business, either. He'd been only slightly more permissive -- and that was probably because Richie was better at persuasion. He was a little bolder … though still uncertain enough that he usually left it alone. 

So most times, they just danced around it.

"Jon?" Richie startled him again.

"Yeah."

"What I mean is, it was really fucking good in the moment. But after I came down, I felt kinda … empty, y'know?"

Jon stared at the silhouette a few feet away. 

_Yeah. I know._

Richie cleared his throat. "So I came back here and … just hoped the sign wouldn't be on the door."

This time, the swoop in Jon's belly was different. It was embarrassing and made him feel like he was in a John Hughes movie. But it beat the hell out of wallowing in jealousy and misery.

"Rich." He licked his dry lips. "I don't want you to be with anyone else."

Silence. So again, Jon barreled on. "I know that's a shit thing to say, because I still wanna be with women. And you still want to. But I don't want you to be with anyone else."

There. Now he could die in peace … Just as soon as the bitch in the other bed bothered to give him a response.

He sighed testily. "Are you gonna say something, dipshit?"

Richie barked a laugh, and Jon wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh along or punch him.

"Uh, OK," Richie yielded. "You know, _dipshit,_ I thought you would call my bluff."

Jon screwed up his face. "What?"

This time it was Richie who sighed impatiently. "When I said we should start hooking up with chicks again. I thought you'd say no. Or I guess I was hoping you would."

Jon simply gaped across the chasm. _The fuck?_

"You mean you didn't even want to?"

"Well …" Richie balked. "Yeah, I _wanted_ to get with a girl. But I didn't need to." He groaned weakly. "Don't get pissed, OK?"

"Don't tell me what to do," Jon snapped. He knew it was childish, but if there was one thing he hated, it was being told what to feel. "You were seriously just playing games with me?"

Richie sat up a little. "Not games. I just … I wanted to make you admit we're, y'know, really together."

"Admit?" Jon bristled at the insinuation. "When did I say we're not? I wouldn't even have done that girl if you hadn't set me up. It's … What do they call it?"

He snapped his fingers, trying to remember that time they'd watched _Cagney and Lacey_ with Richie's parents. " _Oh._ Entrapment."

"Oh, Christ," Richie grumbled. "Fine -- I'm sorry."

Jon scoffed. "Yeah, that sounds genuine."

Richie flipped onto his back and kicked at his blanket. "OK, I'm not sorry. I didn't think of it like a game or whatever. I was …"

He scrubbed a hand over his face then let it fall to the bed. "I guess it's stupid, but I wanted you to say it. It's like … If you won't tell other people, at least tell me."

Jon just lay there for a moment, at a loss. He hadn't realized anything needed to be said. But he did know the knot of righteous anger that had been building in his gut was suddenly gone.

"Oh," he finally replied.

Richie angled his head toward him. "Oh?"

"Yeah." And then before his mind could get in the way, Jon hauled to his feet and crossed the gap between them. "Can I get in?"

Wordlessly, Richie shoved over and Jon slid under the covers. "I know my breath reeks," he apologized as he cupped Richie's face.

He'd barely said the words when Richie's lips found his first. It was all woody smoke and stale alcohol and other unsavory things, but it was fine. Fine enough that they stayed like for a while -- not deep, but simple. Brushing lips and touching each other's faces. Maybe because they were both so tired, Jon told himself.

Eventually he pulled away. "You're an idiot."

"You're a douchebag," Richie mumbled.

Jon smiled. "You're ugly."

"So's your mom."

"Oh, _hell_ no." Jon pushed up onto his forearm.

"Yo mama is so ugly --"

He punched Richie's upper arm. "Sonuvabitch."

Richie swatted at him from his disadvantaged position. "When she tried to join the ugly contest --"

Jon managed to nab Richie's wrist. "Richard."

"Ugh." Richie recoiled a little. "You sound like my tenth-grade geometry teacher."

Jon made a grab for the other wrist. " _Richard._ If the circumference of my dick is six inches, what's its radius?"

"Oh, God." Richie sounded like he was gagging as he tried to wrench himself free. "Don't make me think of Mr. Gentilezza. You freak."

Jon struggled to hold on. "Ohhh -- _Gentilezza?_ " he cooed in an obnoxious Italian accent. " _Posso essere gentile._ "

Richie instantly stopped fighting. "Huh?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "It's Italian, stupid." He rubbed his thumb over the thin skin of Richie's inner wrist. "I said, 'I can be gentle.'"

Even through the near-darkness he could see Richie's grin. "Who said I want gentle?"

Jon didn't bother with any token resistance as Richie pulled him close, this time for a decidedly more insistent kiss. He didn't try to stifle a moan as he rolled onto his back, drawing Richie on top of him.

He didn't care whether he seemed needy when he arched up into the warmth and solidity weighing him down. 

He didn't even second-guess himself when he slipped a hand down the back of Richie's boxers … skimmed his fingertips along the cleft … took a shallow dip inside --

Richie flinched and broke the kiss with a little gasp. "What're you doin'?"

Jon hesitated. "Measuring your circumference?"

A warm puff of air hit his lips as Richie laughed, and his body relaxed a fraction.

"Um. Not right now," Richie murmured, sounding self-conscious.

Jon eased off, splaying his palm over the curve of soft flesh. "I know. I'm just teasing."

Richie stayed still for a breath before dipping down to nuzzle his neck. "Soon, though. OK?"

Jon bit his lip as a ripple moved through the bottom of his belly. Yeah, that sounded more than OK. But even as the promise stoked an unashamed physical response, it churned up a memory, too. A conversation.

He kissed Richie's cheekbone. "Only if you really want to."

Richie pressed his lips against the soft spot just below his jaw. "I know."

Jon shivered a little as the whispery contact skated down the side of his neck, to the point of his collarbone, out to his shoulder. There was no lack of heat between their entwined bodies, but he mostly felt the sharpness of the cool air left behind as the attention moved downward. Somehow his mind was more fixated on the places Richie wasn't.

So he reached down, like always, to weave his fingers into that mane of hair. Usually he did it to impatiently guide the proceedings, or just out of habit. This time, though, he wanted to hang on. Nothing more.

He didn't tug or push when Richie spent a torturous amount of time around his navel, teasing with little nips and flicks of his tongue. He just hung on. He kept clinging as those lips moved to his inner thighs, still refusing to give him enough pressure … still refusing to rush.

When Richie's mouth finally did close around him, enveloped him fully, it wasn't the same as hours ago with that girl. It wasn't as searing and tight and all-consuming.

But it was better in the way that mattered, he supposed. Because he didn't want to shove this person out the door when it was over. He wanted to hang on and draw him even closer.

Jon groaned openly at the thought, clenching his fist a little tighter. Richie must've sensed he was coming undone because he tossed a forearm over his hips to keep them still … hummed around him in that beautifully maddening way.

"Rich. I ..."

That was all he could manage, but Richie caught the drift -- seamlessly pulling away and diving deeper to suckle his balls.

" _Christ._ " Jon surrendered his hold and grabbed at the sheets instead. 

For an instant, he felt a twinge of guilt, even though he'd washed her off -- like he always did, provided he was sober enough. But he decided to let the guilt go. Richie knew what he was doing, and maybe he needed this right now.

If Jon had any doubts, they disintegrated as Richie's arms clamped around his hips. As that hot mouth devoured him with an unguarded desire that stole his breath. And all of a sudden, the raw pleasure of plowing some random girl seemed distant. Shallow.

It wasn't long till that familiar feeling took over -- as if sparks from all his nerve endings were pooling deep and low. As he felt his release coming, Jon laid a hand on Richie's head again. Not even for the sake of holding on -- but just to touch him. Vaguely, he wondered if Richie understood that, too.

*****

"Jesus," Jon muttered, pressing against Richie's back and flicking his temple for the third time.

There was no such thing as an easy way to wake the guy, but after many mornings of trial-and-error Jon had decided the flicking strategy required the least effort on his part.

He was starting to get impatient, though. He'd been up for God knew how long, following the trails of his mind, considering pros and cons, benefits and risks -- and he'd pretty much had it. He needed to rip the Band-Aid off.

"C'mon." Jon inflicted a fourth flick and, at last, got a shimmy and a whine.

He smiled. " _Richard._ "

Richie shot an arm up to intercept Jon's fifth attempt. "Argghh," he groaned into his pillow. "What?"

"I'm awake," Jon stated, like that explained everything.

Richie defiantly curled into himself even more. Jon rolled his eyes then shifted onto his back, to give them both some space.

"I've been thinking."

He heard Richie curse under his breath but chose to leave it alone. He had more important things to tackle.

"I've been thinking … If you wanna tell the guys, it's cool by me."

A silence fell over the room -- so profound that Jon heard someone's stomach gurgle, most likely his. 

"I mean, if you really want to," he added, trying to fill the empty air.

In his periphery, he saw Richie slowly extract his face from the pillow. "We."

Jon furrowed his brow. "Are you speaking French?"

Richie sighed heavily and turned onto his back. " _We_ would tell 'em," he said to the ceiling. "I'm not doin' it by myself."

_Oh. Right._

"Well, yeah," Jon agreed. "Sure."

Richie finally looked at him, uncertainty written across his face. "Are you serious?"

Jon took a deep breath. The whole idea fucking terrified him -- not so much because he believed the guys would flip. There was a good chance Richie was right on that point. He couldn't honestly define the fear in simple terms. He just knew it was there.

"Yeah," he said anyway. "I'm serious."

Richie blatantly scanned his face, like he was searching for a tell, some signal that it was all bullshit. Jon hoped the fear wasn't readable, but if it was, it was.

Eventually, Richie's eyes softened, almost imperceptibly. "OK … Maybe we'll do that then."

Jon shrugged a shoulder, like it was no big deal. "We're only tellin' our guys, though. If you blab to Warren or Robbin, it'll be in the next issue of fucking _Kerrang_."

Richie snorted. "True."

Jon flashed a quick smile then resumed staring at the ceiling. "I want you to be happy, too, you know."

It came out more defensively than he'd intended. But at least he'd said it out loud. 

A hand landed on his, light but warm. "I know."

Jon looked down and watched Richie's fingertips glide lazily across the top of his hand. "Good." He closed his eyes. "Now go to sleep and stop buggin' me."

"Bitch," Richie whispered fondly.

Jon smiled. "Love you, too."


	5. Five

"So." Jon put his forearms on the table. "How are we gonna do this?"

Richie eyed him over the top of his menu. "I think the waitress comes over and we tell her what we want."

Jon set his jaw, too exhausted for shenanigans. He hadn't been able to fall back asleep after casually giving Richie permission to possibly ruin their lives. And he knew they needed to bite the bullet soon, before he had a chance to regain his senses.

"I _mean_ how are we gonna tell the guys? What are you gonna say?"

Richie put the menu down. "OK, wait. I didn't even know that was settled. And why are you asking what _I'm_ gonna say?"

"Of course it's settled," Jon replied, louder than he'd intended. He glanced around the mostly empty patio before lowering his voice. "You said you wanted to tell 'em, and I said OK. So we're doing it."

Richie regarded him, unblinking. "You know what your problem is?"

Jon sighed. "I bet you'll tell me."

Richie aimed an index finger at him -- the one sporting that stupid skull ring. "Any time you decide to do something, it's gotta happen _now._ "

Jon pulled back, taking umbrage at the tone. "What are you talking about? I'm not like that."

Richie raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, OK."

He grabbed his menu and used it to obscure his face -- leaving Jon to stare at a glossy collage of muffins, juice-filled pitchers and piles of fluffy scrambled eggs.

"Rich."

"Let me focus," Richie commanded from behind his shield. "There's a wide variety of breakfast items here."

Jon continued to stare, like he could burn a hole through the muffins. The unexpected resistance was baffling, and fucking annoying -- considering he'd agreed to this mainly to make Richie happy.

And now that his mind was set, he'd figured they'd eat some eggs and hammer out a _Hey, we're gay_ game plan. Because as much as Jon disliked the snarky delivery, Richie's point was pretty dead-on. He liked to get things done.

Jon reached out to snatch the menu away.

"Just get pancakes. I'm trying to have a conversation -- And I'm starving."

Richie sat back and smirked. "See what I mean? You're ready, so bitches better toss some eggs in a frying pan _now._ "

Jon opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by a feminine voice. "Hey, guys. Are you ready, or do you need more time?"

He looked up to see their waitress smiling shyly at him. "Depends which one of us you're asking," he muttered.

Richie clucked his tongue then did his apologetic puppy-eye thing. "What my friend means is -- yes, we're ready."

He added a wink, and the girl dipped her chin like a coy maiden. It was only then that Jon realized she was blonde and cute. 

_Oh, Christ._

"I'm sorry," he cut in smoothly. "That was just a stupid joke."

The waitress turned back to him, her blue eyes softening before she smiled again. "Oh, that's fine. What can I get for you?"

Jon maintained eye contact with her, like they were having the most meaningful of exchanges.

"I'll have the Breakfast Bonanza. And can I get the eggs fried?"

"Sunny-side up," Richie intoned with a smile.

"And whole-wheat toast?" Jon continued, ignoring him.

Richie leaned toward the waitress. "He read an article -- Whole wheat is healthier."

She giggled, light and girly. "I think I read that article, too," she confided, looking back and forth between them. "And do you want bacon or sausage?"

" _Definitely_ sausage," Richie piped up. 

Jon smiled tightly. "I can order for myself, Rich. Bacon, please."

Richie snorted, and Jon kind of wanted to punch him. Because he did not want fucking bacon, but now he had to order it.

"And what about you?" the waitress asked Richie, her voice shifting to a flirty lilt.

Jon openly rolled his eyes. 

Richie grabbed the menu. "Hmm. Y'know, I'm having a hard time deciding between the Breakfast Bonanza and the Rise 'N Shine. What do you think -- " He angled to see her nametag, conveniently located on her tit -- "Sarah?"

He graced her with a beaming smile -- which Sarah returned, her cheeks flushing prettily. Jon somehow contained his gag reflex.

"Well …" Sarah paused, giving the choice all the gravity it didn't warrant. "The Rise 'N Shine does come with a homemade biscuit -- Get it? Rise?"

Richie nodded. "I do. I get it."

Sarah giggled again. "The biscuits here are really good. So I'd suggest that."

Richie set the menu down with a flourish. "Sarah, I'm sold. The Rise 'N Shine it is."

Jon blew out a breath. "Sarah? Can we get coffee, too? A lot of it."

"Of course. I'll put on a fresh pot," she replied, in the same kittenish tone.

Jon side-eyed Richie before unleashing his best ladies-only smile -- inwardly congratulating himself when Sarah's cheeks flushed even more.

"Sarah?" Richie interjected. "Could you be an angel and bring us the whole pot?"

She turned toward him again, smiling sweetly. "Sure -- No problem."

"Sarah?" Jon broke in. "Is there any way I can get a biscuit, too?"

Richie and Sarah looked at him in unison, eyes wide like he'd asked them for a threesome. He wasn't even sure what he was babbling about -- He wanted a biscuit about as much as he wanted bacon …

"Oh," Sarah began hesitantly. "You can, but I'd have to charge you for it."

"That's fine," Jon assured her, his panty-melting smile in place. "I'm sure it'll be worth it."

The blush rose again. "I think so," she agreed.

"Sarah, sweetheart?" Richie was now using that low, velvety tone that had no place at the breakfast table. "I have a question. What kind of condiments can you offer us for these biscuits?"

Jon tried to discreetly kick him, but Richie had already drawn his chimpanzee legs into the safety zone under his chair.

Sarah furrowed her brow, probably trying to discern the hidden meaning in the whole biscuit situation.

"Well, we have butter and a bunch of different jams." She smiled yet again, but it was somehow vaguely dirty this time. "I'll bring you a whole condiment caddy."

Richie looked at Jon with an excited grin. "Fantastic."

Sarah stepped closer and hovered conspiratorially, giving them a bird's eye view down her blouse. "You know," she murmured, "they tell customers the jams are homemade. But they're Smucker's."

Jon watched as Richie nearly stuck his nose in her cleavage. "That's cool," he stage-whispered. "Smucker's is a fine brand."

Sarah giggled then straightened up. "I'll be right back with your coffee."

They both took in the show as she slinked away with an exaggerated sway of the hips in her too-tight skirt. The moment she was out of sight, Jon turned on Richie.

"You really can't help yourself, can you? Every chick with a nice rack who looks like she might be legal."

Richie made a _duh_ face. "Why are you sayin' that like it's a newsflash?"

Jon shrugged, aiming for cool indifference. "I'm not. I'm just …"

Richie put his elbows on the table, narrowing his eyes. "What?"

Jon drummed his fingers on his placemat. "I'm just pointing out that you're still, y'know …" He fake-smiled. "A huge slut."

Richie's eyebrows shot up. "Ah, OK." He leaned in closer still, brandishing his own evil smirk. "Since we're pointing shit out, I should mention that you're a world-class ho, too."

Jon snorted. "Please. I look like a Catholic schoolboy next to you."

Richie sat back. "Yeah, well, most Catholics are a lot messier than they seem on the outside."

"Ugh," Jon objected. "Let's not go down the Catholic-hypocrisy road. It's too early and we're not high."

"Maybe _you're_ not." Richie gave him a cheeky head bob, then jutted his chin out. "What's your problem anyway?"

Jon shrugged again. "I don't have a problem."

Richie surveyed him skeptically. "You can't be mad that I'm flirting with a waitress." He rubbed his palms together. "Gimme another minute and your biscuit will be on the house."

Jon crossed his fingers. "Counting on it." He dropped his hand to his lap. "I'm not mad, by the way." 

Richie kept watching him in that doubtful, slightly infuriating, way. Jon sighed impatiently.

"I'm not." He scooted forward in his chair. "So getting back to our conversation …When we tell the guys, what are we gonna say? That we're, like …"

He peered at Richie and made a coaxing gesture with his hand.

Richie pushed his bottom lip out. "What?"

Jon took a look around before answering. "What word are we gonna use? Like … lovers?"

Richie made a strangled sound. "Fuck no. Sounds like we're in a gay soap opera."

Jon shifted in his chair, hating his own awkwardness. "Fine. Then what do you wanna call it?"

"Why do we hafta call it anything?" Richie challenged. "We'll just tell 'em, y'know … what we're doing."

Jon instantly tensed. "I am _not_ telling them what we do, for fuck's sake."

Richie rolled his eyes. "I don't mean the dirty details, idiot. Just … I dunno. We'll figure it out."

Jon let his head loll in dramatic weariness. That was just like Richie -- thinking they could wing their way through this.

"We can't just figure it out," he said slowly, like he was talking to an especially dumb five-year-old. "This is important. But you don't wanna think about it 'cause you're trying to get into our waitress's pants."

Richie groaned. "Will you knock it off? I was flirting with a cute girl. Shoot me."

"I don't care that you're flirting," Jon flat-out lied. "I just wanna make sure you're serious about this. You seem like you're backing out."

Richie crossed his arms, frowning. "I'm not. I just don't think we need to book an appointment and write a script. You don't have to make it such a big fucking deal."

Jon willed himself to bottle his irritation, because he refused to be derailed into that old argument. The one about him being a control freak who couldn't see the forest for the trees or some shit. 

He leaned forward, dialing down his voice. "It _is_ a big deal … If we tell them, then it'll be real." He waited for Richie to meet his gaze. "Are you ready for it to be real?"

Richie blinked a few times, looking genuinely thrown. "I thought it was."

Jon darted his eyes to the side. "I know. I didn't mean …"

He worked his jaw, trying to piece together what he did mean. He knew their relationship -- whatever they wanted to call it -- was real to them. But the minute they took it out of their hotel room and into the world -- even the little world of their band -- it wouldn't be just theirs anymore.

It would be there for other people to look at, and pick apart, and question. And if it all imploded spectacularly, other people would see it. Maybe that was a stupid worry -- He was sure Richie would say so -- but it gnawed at him all the same.

Before he could figure out a way to explain it, he spied Sarah rounding the corner, armed with a coffee pot and creamer.

He sighed. "Here comes your girlfriend."

"As promised," Sarah declared brightly as she neared the table.

"Sorry it took a while," she chattered, setting the creamer down then moving to fill their cups. "But it's fresh and _steaming_ -hot."

She put the pot down on the far end of the table, necessitating a long stretch and another cleavage shot. Job done, she stood at the ready -- hands folded, looking at them expectantly.

Jon flashed a quick smile. "Thanks, Sarah."

"No problem," she assured, a little sparkle dancing in her eyes. She angled herself toward Richie. "Can I get you anything else?"

Richie kept his head down, busying himself with the mechanics of a sugar packet. "No. Thank you." And he was so weirdly stiff and subdued, it was comical … Or it would've been, if Jon didn't suddenly feel like a tool.

Sarah looked at him then, smiling uncertainly.

"We're good," he said. "Thanks."

She nodded, her smile fading, then slipped away without another word.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Richie dumped some cream into his cup. "That better?" he asked petulantly. "Now our cute waitress hates us."

Coffee sloshed over the side of his cup as he stirred with a little too much gusto. Jon shook his head.

"Don't be a baby," he chided mildly. "Y'know, there's a big middle ground between flirting and being a prick."

No reply, so Jon went on. "I mean, I know you have almost no experience in not-flirting. But you'll get the hang of it."

Richie reached for another sugar packet, refusing to look up. "She's probably spitting in our condiments as we speak."

Jon huffed a laugh before he could help it. "Christ," he griped. "I should just give you to Sarah and enjoy my biscuits in peace."

Richie clung to his mopey posture, but Jon could see his lips twitching. And he knew they were OK again … their version of OK anyway.

Jon nabbed the creamer and doused his coffee. "Listen," he began carefully. "I know you don't like appointments or whatever … But I wanna tell them tonight." He glanced up as he stirred. "What do you think?"

Richie tossed his empty sugar packets aside. "I think we better. Or you're gonna drive me nuts."

Jon allowed a small smile. "Probably." He took a sip from his cup. "I won't make you write a script, though … OK?"

Richie shrugged then took a gulp from his own cup. "Fine. But I'll tell you what we're _not_ saying, and it's fucking 'lovers.'"

"Yeah, yeah," Jon grumbled. "I don't wanna say that, either, so you can shut up about it."

Richie regarded him for a moment. "What if we just skip the words and give 'em a demo? Action speaks louder …"

Jon grimaced. "I think we need to keep some things to ourselves, man."

He expected a chuckle, or a raunchy joke, but Richie just chewed on his lip, like he was searching for his next words. And then he seemed to think better of it.

"Yeah," he agreed, smiling wanly.

For an instant, there was something in his voice and eyes that Jon couldn't quite read. It wasn't playful, or teasing, or wry, or annoyed. Or any of the thousand emotions Jon was used to.

And then it was gone.

His first impulse was to reach out and take Richie's hand -- though he didn't know why, and he readily quashed it. Because they were out in the world and they couldn't do that.

"We'll figure it out," he said instead.

Richie kept his face impassive, but Jon noticed a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed again, and the smile widened just a little. "I know."


	6. Six

"Wow," Richie marveled. "This MacGyver dude is a fucking genius. He just made a bomb outta, like, paper clips, bubble gum and a Swatch … You can't even deal with a Rubik's Cube."

"Mm-hmm," Jon murmured, keeping his eyes on the mostly blank page in front of him.

He knew it was pointless to try to write, but he needed something to occupy his mind while they waited for the guys to drag themselves over. And he couldn't be like Richie, casually watching _MacGyver_ and munching on Pringles.

So he'd decided to dive into those same few lines he'd been toying with for days. 

_I feel your eyes on me, they swallow me up.  
Here in the darkness, the truth puts an end to your game._

He'd only managed to add that one line, and he wasn't even sure what it meant. It had come from his brain, unaided by alcohol, but it just felt like he was babbling.

"Commercial," Richie announced, apparently providing a _MacGyver_ play-by-play now. "What did you do with that Rubik's Cube anyway?"

_Speaking of babbling._

Jon sighed and looked up. "I smashed it."

Richie's eyes bugged out like he was scandalized. "Jeez, Jonny. An innocent toy."

Jon smirked. "I smashed it then put it back together. That was the only way to solve it."

Richie shook his head. "You must learn patience, grasshopper."

Jon cringed at the awful Chinese accent before uncrossing his legs and stretching out on the bed. "What can I say?" He tilted his head a couple times to get the cricks out of his neck. "I get things done, right?"

"Mmm."

Jon heard the other bed creak and glanced over to see Richie lying on his side -- leaning so far onto the edge it looked like he might topple off.

"Hey. So … Do you want me to do the talking? I don't mind."

Jon blinked. He hadn't been expecting that particular offer, since Richie had been insisting they do this together. For a moment he wanted to jump at it, but quickly brushed the impulse aside.

"Nah. I'll take care of it."

Richie gave him a dubious look, and Jon felt a flare of irritation. He pushed up onto his forearms. "It's my band."

Richie twisted his mouth then flopped onto his back. "You don't say."

Jon sat up higher and raised an eyebrow. "Well, the name ain't Such, is it now?"

He didn't play that card often, because he realized it must be annoying as hell. But he hated the fact that Richie doubted he could handle this. And he sure as fuck wasn't letting him be the _man._

Richie drew his knees up, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. "Fine. So -- What? You gonna tell your employees you're screwing your other employee?"

Jon stared, caught off guard by the left turn toward bitterness. Then it hit him -- Richie didn't want _him_ to be in charge, either. 

He blew out a breath. " _Honey?_ Let's not fight right now, OK?"

Richie just chewed on his lip, like he was mulling over his choices.

Jon slid closer to the side of his bed. "You're not my employee, dumbass." He said it with no bite, so his intention would be clear. 

Richie kept up the silent act, which meant he was either pissed or trying to get Jon to sweet-talk him some more. And _that_ was not happening. Jon set his jaw to prevent any more sentimental words from escaping.

A moment later, Richie reached for the chip canister and held it out. "Do you have a fever for the flavor of a Pringle?"

Jon snagged the peace offering and Richie turned onto his belly, resting his chin in his hands.

"If the guys dump us, maybe we can become jingle writers," he mused. "I could definitely compose odes to junk food. Beer, too."

Jon nodded, biting into the salty goodness. He was about to answer when he heard the unmistakable sound of Alec's cackle echoing off the hallway walls.

_Shit._

Richie caught his eye, flashing a quick smile. "Don't let Dave snarf all my chips," he warned as he hauled to his feet.

" _That's_ what you're worried about?" Jon bitched, mostly to distract himself from the way his heart was jackhammering into his ribs.

Richie opened the door before anyone knocked and was instantly enveloped in high-fives, whoops and hollers. It was obnoxious and ridiculous, since they'd been apart for no more than an hour -- and it was exactly what Jon needed to settle his nerves, at least a little.

Maybe this wouldn't be the dumbest thing he'd ever done.

As soon as Dave crossed the threshold he spotted Jon's stash. "Over here" -- He made a _gimme_ gesture -- "I'm starving."

Jon hugged the canister against his chest. "They're Richie's."

Dave rolled his eyes then plopped down near the foot of the other bed. Alec belly-flopped next to him while Tico parked himself against the dresser.

"OK." Alec looked Jon in the eyes, deadly serious. "Can we make this meeting quick? I was just informed this town is second only to Las Vegas in the field of female mud wrestling."

Richie wandered into Jon's line of sight, his face lighting up. "Really?" 

Jon gave him The Eye then returned his attention to Alec. "Yeah, I can be sensitive to your wrestling needs."

Alec grinned. "I'm a simple man." He pushed up to sit cross-legged and clapped his hands together. "So what's up, boss?"

Jon watched as all eyes fell on him, including Richie's -- which suddenly, disconcertingly, held a hint of fear. 

_Shit._

"Um." He hugged the chip container a little tighter before he realized how strange he must look -- curled up against the headboard, almost shrinking away front of _his_ band.

_For fuck's sake._

Jon dropped his shield and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, planting them on the floor to feel more grounded. "Well … There's just something we need to talk about, and it's … y'know, personal stuff."

He put his elbows on his knees then scanned the guys' faces. Inevitably he landed on Richie's, and instantly noticed he'd paled a bit. All at once, Jon felt his thin shreds of self-confidence slipping away.

"Then I'm gonna need a damn snack," Dave broke in. "What kinda meeting is this? I bet when Lee Iacocca calls a meeting, there's fucking Pringles everywhere."

Richie huffed before swiping the canister from the bed and firing it at Dave.

"Easy," Dave objected, flinching as the container struck his chest and landed in his lap.

Richie shrugged. "Sorry."

"What's with you?" Tico murmured, pulling out his smokes.

Richie glanced at Jon before answering. "Nothin'. I just wanted him to shut up."

Dave knit his eyebrows together, in that way he had. "OK, what's wrong? We're having a meeting on a night off, Rich is throwing snacks … This is weird."

He promptly popped the lid on the chips and dumped a pile into his palm.

"Seriously," Alec chimed in. "Not to get repetitive, but we could be watching muddy women fight right now."

Jon brought his fingertips to his temples. "If you'd shut up, I'd tell you why we're here."

The words came on impulse, just to stop the whining from assaulting his brain. But he immediately regretted it … because he had their full attention again, and he knew he couldn't do it. There was no fucking way.

"Well?" Dave prompted before leaning back to inhale the chip crumbs from the bottom of the canister.

"Um." Jon ran a hand through his hair then let it fall to his lap. "There's something Rich and I wanted to tell you, and it's ... We're just kinda worried how you'll take it."

Richie was watching him intently now, gnawing his lip like he might shear it clean off. Dave and Alec traded questioning looks before Dave smiled tentatively.

"You sound so serious, Jonny. Are you guys breakin' up with us? Like, you wanna do a Hall and Oates things?"

Alec waved him off. "That'll never work. 'Bongiovi and Sambora' has too many goddamn syllables -- There's, like, five."

"Six," Dave corrected. "Seven, if you count 'and.' But yeah, you're right. It would have to be Jon and Rich." He smiled. "And that sounds incredibly gay."

Richie looked over sharply and Jon dipped his chin as he sensed a heat surging to his face.

"Shut up," he chided, with a wooden laugh. "We're not breaking up the band, you morons."

Tico pushed away from the dresser. "How about you just tell us, so these two will stop blabbing?"

Jon stole a quick look at Richie but barely registered him. His vision had become weirdly unfocused -- like his brain couldn't handle seeing their faces.

"Um. Yeah, OK." He started bouncing his leg -- Richie's nervous habit that Jon had picked up somewhere along the line. "Well, Rich and I … We've been … For a while, we've been …"

There was a voice inside, screaming at him to just _say it._ But he couldn't physically form the words. He didn't even know what the words were.

Dave sighed. "Yeah, that's helpful."

Jon scrubbed a hand over his face. _Just tell them, you coward. Just --_

"We're together."

For a moment, Jon froze -- half-shocked, half-pissed he'd been beaten to the punch. When he dropped his hand, he saw Richie standing there, arms crossed and staring at his own feet.

Alec screwed up his face. "What does that mean? You're _together._ "

Richie shuffled his feet as he side-eyed Jon. "Y'know," he hedged. "Together."

Jon's gut was churning, and he didn't know if it was from fear or shame over his own silence. But he did know he had to make it stop.

"Rich," he croaked. "It's OK. Lemme say it."

Richie pressed his lips together, which Jon took as agreement.

When he looked to the other bed, Alec was squinting in confusion, and Dave … Dave's eyes were darting back and forth between him and Richie, and in an instant Jon knew he understood -- even if he was waiting for a confession.

Jon took a deep breath. "He means we're together in a …" He dropped his gaze to the mustard-colored carpet, realizing for the first time how ugly it was. "In a romantic way."

He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the hideous view, and maybe to pretend he hadn't just used the word _romantic_ in reference to Richie. 

Seconds ticked by before Alec laughed -- one of those forced, _please say you're shitting me_ kind of laughs. " _Riiight._ You two finally ran outta pussy, so you decided to start nailing each other. Is that it?"

Jon lifted his eyes, and there was Dave peering at him -- a smile slowing spreading across his face. He aimed an index finger at Jon.

"I knew it. I fucking _knew_ it." Each word was punctuated with a jab of the finger.

Jon just gawked, unsure whether he should be relieved or freaked. 

"What did you _know?_ " Alec demanded. "It's obviously a joke, you idiot."

Dave shook his head. "Unh-uh, man. Look at Rich. He's gonna puke."

Jon looked over as Richie dropped down next to him, half-heartedly muttering a "piss off."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Alec waved his hands in front of him. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He angled toward Tico. "Are you actually buying this, man?"

Tico shrugged. "If they say so."

Dave made some kind of _woot_ sound then jumped to his feet and started pacing between the beds and the dresser. "I'm telling you, I knew it. Ever since … I dunno, a couple months ago?"

He stopped in his tracks and looked at them with a vaguely maniacal glee.

"At that party where the _unbelievably_ hot Italian chick was all over you, Jonny." He wagged a finger at Richie. "Then all of a sudden, you're leaving with this ugly bitch."

He resumed pacing. "I couldn't wrap my mind around it. But then it hit me later on, outta nowhere." -- He halted and brought his hands to head -- "I thought, 'Holy fucking shitballs -- They're bangin' each other.'"

Al scoffed. "That is bullshit. You never said a word."

Dave dropped his arms and gaped in disbelief. "Dude, what was I gonna say? You'd think I was nuts."

"And I'd be right --"

"Jesus Christ, shut up," Richie grumbled. "Who cares what anybody thought? It's true. That's all that matters."

Jon watched as Richie propped his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. He thought he should respond in some way -- maybe reach out and touch Richie's shoulder. But that seemed so … intimate. 

He knew he should probably _say_ something at least. The problem was, his voice seemed to have vacated his body. He'd said the necessary words, and now he just needed to sit in the reverb of it all. Knowing this thing between him and Richie, whatever it was, was taking on a new level of reality … Knowing what Dave had been thinking for weeks now … And wondering whether anyone one else was thinking the same. 

Eventually, Tico loped over to sit next to Alec.

"So, OK," he deadpanned. "Is that all?"

Richie's head snapped up. "You want details?"

Tico raised an eyebrow. "Fuck no. I wanna know if this meeting's over -- I'm starving, too."

"I'm sure Rich has some food he can throw at you," Dave groused.

Jon paused to take in Tico's neutral expression, trying to discern what might be going on in his head -- because it all seemed too damn easy. But Teek had never been one to lay his cards out.

"You --" Jon began haltingly. "You don't care?"

Tico shrugged. "I ain't shocked."

Alec's eyes widened cartoonishly. "You, too? I feel like I'm in the fucking Twilight Zone."

He shook his head then looked toward some distant spot on the wall. Jon studied him for a beat before venturing on. "Does it bother you?"

Alec blinked then locked eyes with him, like he hadn't been expecting the question. His face softened a fraction. "No. I mean … I'm just surprised is all. I woulda never guessed you guys were like that."

"Like what?" Richie prodded. His voice was unusually muted, but Jon heard the defensive undercurrent.

Alec bobbed his head. "Y'know … gay." 

"We're not," Richie bit out. "We're just … We're together."

Jon felt a tug in his chest, and he couldn't tell whether it was Al's words or Richie's that were digging into him. Maybe both.

"So it doesn't bother you?" he pressed, because he needed a clear answer.

Alec crossed his arms and aimed his eyes at the pillows next to Jon. "No … I mean, it's weird, I guess. But that's OK."

Jon nodded. _Weird_ didn't seem so bad.

They grew quiet again, and Jon tried to focus on the sounds filtering in from the hallway -- the voices, the whirring of the ice machine. Because the jumble of thoughts in his head was too overwhelming to process just then.

Alec was first to break the silence. "So … I have a question."

Jon eyed him warily. "Yeah?"

"Which one of you is the girl?"

"Fuck off," Jon snapped reflexively.

Alec recoiled a bit, but there was a playful spark in his eyes. "OK, OK -- Let me rephrase. Who's Hall, and who's Oates?"

There was a beat of silence before Richie snorted, and Dave broke out into a grin. And as much as Jon wanted to cling to his righteous irritation, he knew he didn't stand a chance. 

"Fuck off," he repeated, dissolving into laughter before the words were out.

"How is that even a question?" Dave challenged. "Jon totally looks like Hall, and they're both lead singers. _And_ Oates plays guitar."

"I am not fucking _Oates,_ " Richie objected. "He's, like, five feet tall."

Dave shook his head solemnly. "I'm sorry, Rich, but you're Oates."

"I agree," Alec piled on. "Now, it _is_ a matter of dispute whether Hall is the girl, or Oates is."

"Oates has a mustache," Tico pointed out.

"Not always," Dave argued. "And Hall is clearly dominant in the musical relationship."

"True," Tico conceded.

Jon put his hands over his ears. "Christ, get outta here. All of you."

"Yeah, out." Richie made a shooing motion toward the door. "You can call me gay, but I draw the line at Oates."

Dave looked around in mock bewilderment. "You're adjourning the meeting? All we get is, 'We're a little gay, have some Pringles?'"

"Yes," Jon and Richie replied in unison.

"I'm asking a legit question," Alec persisted. "I mean, you guys … do things, right?" As he spoke, he tapped the sides of his index fingers together.

Jon glared. "Do your fingers represent dicks right now, Al?"

"You should use your middle finger for mine," Richie advised.

Alec had the decency to blush a bit. "Sorry. Guess I'm just wondering how you … y'know, work things out."

Jon crossed his arms. "It's none of your business how we work things out."

"That is true," Dave cut in. "But what I wanna know is, how did it start? Like, were you both high and thought the other one was a chick?"

Jon was about to tell him where to go when Richie spoke up. "We were watching a nature show."

Jon pinned him with a stare, but Richie ignored it. "I thought it was _Wild Kingdom,_ but Jon said it wasn't. Anyway, there was a fox and a deer licking each other."

"Rich," Jon interjected, growing alarmed. "That's enough detail."

Tico nodded. "Yeah. I really don't need to know."

Dave started giggling like a fiend. "Jesus Christ, a fox and a deer."

"All right." Jon pushed to his feet. "Meeting's officially over. As Lee Iacocca would say, 'Get the fuck out.'"

"No way," Alec protested. "I have more questions. Is Richie gonna start gettin' paid more than us?"

"Definitely," Jon replied, grabbing his arm.

Alec swatted at him. "That's bullshit. I'm taking this to the Equal Employment office or whatever it's called."

"Great," Jon chirped as he tried to yank Al to his feet. "You can all file a grievance."

"Jonny." Dave's hand landed on his shoulder. "C'mon, man. We won't ask any more personal stuff."

"I know." Jon shook him off. "'Cause you're leaving."

Dave took a step back. "No, really. We're just being stupid 'cause" -- He shook his head -- "that's what we do. But we should talk for real, y'know?"

Jon turned to face him fully, trying to get a better read on his honesty -- which was never easy, since the bastard maintained a perpetual smirk.

"What do you wanna talk about?"

"I dunno." Dave smiled sheepishly. "I heard the Giants might have a shot this year."

Jon peered at Richie, then immediately felt self-conscious about it -- like he was looking to the wife for permission. Richie gave him a surreptitious wink, obviously sensing the mental mini-drama.

"Sure," Richie consented, keeping his eyes on Jon. "I probably have some weed to go with those Pringles."

"Sonuvabitch, why didn't you say so?" Alec griped good-naturedly. "And then mud-wrestling, right?"

Richie kept his face obscured as he rose to retrieve his pot stash. "Um, I'm thinkin' I might stay in tonight."

Jon felt a swoop in his belly, but willed himself to tamp down any visible reaction.

Tico shot him a warning look. "Don't wanna know."

Jon held up a hand. "Good. 'Cause _nature show_ is all you're gettin', man."

Alec narrowed his eyes, a sly little smile playing at his lips. "But who's the fox and who's the deer?"

Jon shook his head before glancing over toward Richie, where he was busy rifling through a bag. He turned back to the guys and smirked. 

"We take turns."

*****

Richie never seemed to know where to put his hands when they did this … Probably, Jon supposed, because it was still so new and strange, and not what either of them had ever known … or even imagined until a couple months ago.

If anyone wanted to know how they _worked things out,_ the truth was, they were just stumbling through -- feeling and reacting. If Jon were ever going to confess the "how," that's what he'd say.

But there was no chance he'd make that admission, because this wasn't anyone's business.

No one had a right to know he was still scared he'd do something wrong or wouldn't be good enough. Or that his brain still spun the same tales about him being insane, and deranged, and sick -- but his soul no longer seemed to cared. 

It was no one's business if the lingering physical awkwardness made him feel a little embarrassed, but also fed a thrill … the thrill of knowing they were still in mostly uncharted waters … of knowing that Richie had been with literally countless girls, but would never do _this_ with anyone but him.

And it was no one's business if Richie still didn't know what to do with his gangly limbs when they weren't twined around some delicate nymph.

Like right now. Jon could see little else but a tangle of brown hair, pressed up as he was against Richie's back. But he knew those hands were scrabbling in vain at the starched sheets in front of them. So he reached around to take one. He usually didn't do things like that -- if he could say they had a _usually_ yet. But tonight he just felt like it.

Richie instantly pulled their joined hands to his chest, and Jon startled at the way his heart was pounding.

He barely stopped himself from asking, "Are you OK?"

He wanted to, but told himself he wouldn't. Richie had gotten pissed at him the last time, for asking over and over -- though, really, Jon knew he wasn't so much angry as embarrassed … self-conscious that he was having such a hard time. 

Jon never minded it that much -- having to hold back and slow down. Richie liked to mock his intolerance for dragged-out brunch orders and Rubik's cubes. But he could be patient when it really mattered.

He squeezed Richie's hand. "Can I …?"

Richie pushed back against him, and a little whimper escaped Jon's throat. He pressed his lips to Richie's shoulder to muffle any more undignified sounds -- and maybe to inhale the scent of his skin. 

The few times they'd done this, Richie had always wanted it the same way -- on their sides, denying him the vantage point of being fully on top. Jon understood. It was hard to yield when you were used to something else … when you saw yourself as something else. He knew.

But fuck if it wasn't excruciating right now -- being unable to move the way instinct was driving him. Mentally, he didn't mind being patient. His body just had other ideas sometimes. 

Richie began to slide their still-clasped hands down his belly, till Jon felt warm velvety skin under his knuckles. He pulled his hand free to skim his fingertips along the soft underside of that familiar length, smiling as he heard a shuddering sigh. 

"Jonny."

"I know," Jon soothed, taking him firmly in hand.

At the first stroke, Richie groaned shamelessly, pulsing his hips in a way that made Jon see stars.

"Fuck," he gasped, before the inner urge took over and he was thrusting more insistently.

Richie braced himself with his forearms, pressing his body back to meet Jon's -- a tortured-sounding moan breaking free from his lungs. Jon could only curse again as he fell out of rhythm. It felt like some strange battle of wills was forming, the more physically entwined they became.

"Rich."

It came out weak and pleading, but Jon was slipping past the point of pride. He drew his hand away from the heated flesh -- ignoring the little mewl of protest -- and planted his palm on Richie's chest.

"Rich." Jon nuzzled the side of his neck. "Just let me …"

He didn't have the breath to finish, so Richie simply clasped his wrist and tried to drag his hand back down to where he needed it.

Jon curled in a little tighter and touched his lips to the fragile skin behind Richie's ear. "Will you lie on your back for me? Please."

It occurred to him that begging wasn't quite as demeaning when it was whispered.

Richie whined openly, clearly frustrated by Jon's uncooperative hand. "God." He shifted restlessly, kicking Jon's shin. "Hurry up."

Jon swore he could've cried from relief, but instead he nipped at Richie's ear. "Bossy," he teased, even as his heartbeat moved into his throat.

By the time they realigned, the pounding seemed to have taken over his whole body, till he felt a tremor in his fingers. So he paused to take a few grounding breaths … to just hover over Richie and take in the flushed cheeks, the damp tips of his bangs on his forehead, the way those dark eyes were shining black now -- and refusing to meet his. 

"It's good to see your face," Jon murmured without thinking.

Richie blinked a couple times then looked at Jon's lips, furrowing his brow like he wasn't sure if he was being mocked or not.

Jon smiled a little. "I can't believe it either."

The corners of Richie's mouth quirked, and then there was a hand at the back of Jon's head, pulling him down for a kiss. He instantly melted into the contact, and though it was still mildly humiliating to be so reactive, it seemed like a fair price to pay.

By degrees, he coaxed Richie's knee up, sensing those fingers dig into his scalp a little harder. It wasn't exactly painful, but it was enough to make him pull back, just for a breath of space between their lips.

"You OK?" 

"Don't start."

Jon chuckled and Richie angled his head away, obviously ill at ease with this particular kind of attention.

"Just bring your other knee up," Jon cooed, "and I'll totally leave you alone."

Richie snorted softly, hesitating for just another moment before giving in. Jon kissed his cheek on impulse, dimly aware it was oddly innocent gesture. He supposed he meant it as an apology, for making Richie feel so exposed.

But that's what they both were now. Exposed. Not just to the guys, but to each other -- because they'd just fully committed themselves to this insanity. Apparently, it meant that much.

Jon knew he was all in, in every sense, as he pushed into the raw physical pleasure once more … as four long limbs snaked around him and Richie pressed _up,_ seeking more connection … as he was pulled, again, into a kiss so ferocious it almost felt like he was drowning.

It was then, in that fleeting instant where he was dying, that a truth dawned on him. He understood what he'd been missing those few times they'd done this before. It wasn't the position or the power of being on top, or the need to answer anyone's bullshit questions about who the _man_ was. Or even the primal physicality. 

He'd missed seeing Richie's face, touching his face. Being held and clung to like he was a lifeline. Absorbing the sounds from Richie's lips, instead of being shielded from them. Feeling like his body wasn't just his own anymore.

Knowing that it was fine, after all, to want to possess each other. Because they already did.

Richie abruptly broke the kiss and tossed his head to the side. " _God._ Jonny."

Jon didn't need to ask if he was OK, because Richie only enveloped him more tightly, dug his nails in as he arched up, like he wanted to claw his way inside …

It occurred to Jon he'd probably let him.

"Fuck." His thrusts were becoming more erratic. "Rich."

As he felt the inevitable building, he reached to tilt Richie's face toward him. Any other time, he wouldn't have dared, for fear of seeming sentimental. But alone in their dim room, especially now, he could be honest.

He leaned down, planting an errant kiss somewhere near Richie's lips.

"Thank you," he whispered, then tried again -- this time finding a soft spot just below his jaw. "Thank you." 

Richie choked out a little sob, and Jon felt it in his own chest. "It's … I love you, Jonny."

Jon squeezed his eyes shut. His chest was somehow burning now, and it was like he was being consumed by the searing line from his heart to their joined bodies below. Maybe he'd reached his limit with honesty for the day …

_Just say it._

He opened his eyes and raised his head to see that Richie wasn't looking away anymore. Jon brought a hand to his cheek, used his thumb to stroke his bottom lip -- for no reason other than he wanted to. 

It made him smile.

"I love you, too."

END


End file.
